


Feel Ooh, So Pretty

by Leslie_Knope



Series: Gorgeous [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-09-14 15:38:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9189998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leslie_Knope/pseuds/Leslie_Knope
Summary: What's an overprotective sister supposed to do when her dumb fucking brother runs off with a strange guy and then doesn't answer her texts? Well, drastic times call for drastic measures.





	

**Author's Note:**

> By popular demand...a little sequel. ♥

Laura taps the toe of her boot against the bar and stares down at her phone, frowning. It’s been half an hour, and Derek still hasn’t sent her that kid’s—Stiles?—address.

“Are you worried about Derek?”

Laura didn’t even hear Erica come up next to her, god.

“Yeah,” she admits. “I mean, I trust his judgment and everything, but…I’m his alpha, I’m allowed to be overprotective.”

“Why don’t you go talk to his friends?” Erica says, jerking her chin toward the corner of the bar. “I’m pretty sure it’s that group over there.”

Laura sighs and heads over, toward one guy that seems to be the leader of the little group. Derek would kill her if he knew she was intervening on his behalf, but if he had just fucking _listened_ to her, she wouldn’t have to do this in the first place.

As she gets closer, she can tell that the guy’s a wolf. After adjusting her angle to make sure no one else can see, she flashes her eyes to get his attention. He flashes his eyes red in response, looking surprised, and she steps right up to him. They’re the same height, and she jabs him in the shoulder. “I need your friend’s address.”

“What the hell? Who are you?” he asks, and while he doesn’t step back in submission, he doesn’t make any kind of aggressive move either. She likes that.

“You’re friends with Stiles, right?” she asks, and his eyes narrow.

“What do you want with Stiles? He’s not even here.”

“Yeah, because he left with my brother,” she retorts. “He was supposed to text me Stiles’ address, and he didn’t. I’m worried, that’s all.”

“You’re worried about _Stiles_?” he asks, aghast. “He’s human. I should be worried about your brother instead.”

“My brother would _never_ hurt him,” she hisses.

“Neither would Stiles!”

“Okay, look,” Laura says, softening her tone as she switches tactics. “I’m Derek’s older sister _and_ his alpha. I just want to make sure he’s okay. I’m not gonna bother Stiles or anything, it’s just a precaution. You’d do the same thing, wouldn’t you?”

The kid sighs. “Yeah, fine. He lives at 427 Plumeria.”

“Thanks,” she says, holding out her hand in a gesture of goodwill. “I’m Laura, by the way.”

“Scott,” he says, shaking her hand firmly. “Based on the way Stiles was mooning over your brother, I’m guessing that we’re going to be seeing a lot of each other.”

Laura laughs. “I’d have to agree. I’ve never seen Derek like that before. No sister should have to smell her brother’s arousal,” she explains, and Scott winces in sympathy.

“Being a werewolf really sucks sometimes,” he whispers, and she couldn’t agree more.

* * *

Derek never does text her the address, that asshole, but Laura figures, with a grimace, that he’s probably busy with _other_ things. She knows that Derek can take care of himself, and now that she has Stiles’ address _and_ Scott’s phone number, she’s comfortable enough to enjoy the rest of her evening.

But Derek doesn’t come home in the morning like she expects, nor does he answer her increasingly-panicked texts throughout the day. She stares at her phone, trying not to freak out as she paces around their apartment. What the hell could they possibly be doing?

* * *

Stiles groans and levers himself to a seated position on the couch when he hears Derek approaching. He sniffs appreciatively and grins at the spread in front of him. “If you keep making me food, I am never letting you leave.”

“The plan is working, then,” Derek says dryly, and Stiles laughs, yanking Derek down on the couch next to him.

It’s been just about the best day of Stiles’ life, he’s pretty sure. After breakfast came morning naps, then more sex, then a shower. They learned that Stiles’ shower really wasn’t big enough for anything recreational, unfortunately, unless they wanted to risk one or both of them breaking a hip. But Stiles’ hunch was confirmed—he enjoyed Derek’s personality just as much as their sexual chemistry—and they spent a very enjoyable afternoon shooting the shit while cuddling on the couch and watching dumb shows on Netflix.

Stiles dips his grilled cheese into his bowl of tomato soup and groans again after he stuffs half of it into his mouth. “Dude, this is _so_ good. Like, seriously.”

Taking a much politer bite of his own sandwich, Derek gives him a flat look. “Stiles. It’s soup from a can and grilled cheese. Don’t be too impressed.”

“Oh, but I am,” he said, mumbling around a delicious mouthful of bread and cheese. “I am _smitten_ with you, dude. Literally everything you do right now impresses me.”

Derek snorts, rolling his eyes, but he presses their thighs together as they eat and haphazardly watch whatever’s playing on the TV. As soon as they’re done, Derek moves their dishes to the coffee table and drops down to his knees in front of the couch.

“I feel like I should take advantage of the whole _easily impressed_ thing,” he says, the blush on his cheeks belying the brazenness of his words as he slides his hands up Stiles’ bare thighs. “I’m smitten with you, too, you know.”

“Holy shit,” Stiles whispers, swallowing as he slouches down on the couch and spreads his legs around Derek’s shoulders. He’s had more orgasms in the past 24 hours than he thinks he’s had ever since he figured out what his dick was _for_ , but look at that, it’s stirring again. Derek tugs Stiles’ boxers down and off, and Stiles reaches forward, thumbing at the waistband of Derek’s boxers until he gets the hint and wiggles out of them.

Pleased with his view now, Stiles leans back and slides his fingers through Derek’s hair—still somehow softer than he’s expecting, even though he’s tugged at it a _lot_ today. Derek starts slow, lazily mouthing up the side of Stiles’ dick, and Stiles has to fist his hands in the couch cushions to stop from doing something rude like thrusting his hips up.

Suddenly the front door opens with a crash, and Stiles yelps as he pushes Derek away, grabbing a pillow to cover himself on instinct. Derek leaps to his feet and is in front of him— _protecting_ him, Stiles thinks fondly—before he even knows what’s going on. He peers around Derek and sees a dark-haired girl that looks somewhat familiar.

“Laura!” Derek shouts as she screams, covering her eyes.

“Fuck! Oh my god. Holy shit, I need brain bleach.”

“What are you _doing_ here?” he says, seemingly unconcerned by his nudity.

“You could have answered your phone!”

“You could have knocked!” he roars back. “What the hell?”

“Oh my god, it really reeks in here.”

“Yeah, well, we’ve been having a lot of sex,” Derek deadpans, and Stiles smirks when Laura whimpers, trying to cover her ears and her nose at the same time. Derek sighs and reaches for the boxers that are hanging off the lamp, sliding them on. “You can open your eyes now,” he says, and she does so gingerly, although she keeps her nose pinched closed.

“I’m sorry,” she says, wincing as she looks back at the door, which is now barely hanging on its hinges. Stiles says a silent goodbye to his security deposit.

“Seriously, what the hell are you doing here?”

“You didn’t come home,” Laura says, crossing her arms. “And you didn’t answer your phone. What the hell was I supposed to think?”

Derek sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “My phone must have died. Laura, Stiles. Stiles, Laura,” he says wearily, and she smiles cautiously at Stiles.

“I didn’t make the best first impression, did I?”

Stiles blinks. “Considering that you just broke my door _and_ interrupted a pretty great blow job, no.”

Derek and Laura’s identical eye rolls would be funny in any other situation. Actually, scratch that—it’s still funny.

“Okay,” Derek says. “This is what’s gonna happen. Stiles and I are going to go back to the apartment, while _you_ stay here and fix the door.”

Laura huffs, her hands on her hips, but she doesn’t protest. “That’s fair,” she grumbles.

“Is that okay with you?” Derek asks, and Stiles nods.

“Yeah, perfect.” He stands, keeping the pillow over his groin, and Laura leans forward a little, peering over Derek’s shoulder.

“Laura!” Derek yells, and she spins around with a little squeak.

“Sorry! He’s really hot!”

“Oh my god,” Derek mutters, but Stiles just laughs as he walks over to his dresser. He slips on a henley and a pair of jeans, then throws another change of clothes into a little duffel bag. When he walks back into the “living room”—aka the other side of his apartment—Derek is glaring at Laura, but she’s mostly ignoring him.

“Scott is gonna get a kick out of this,” she mutters, tapping away at her phone, and Stiles sputters.

“ _Scott_? As in my Scott? How the hell do you know Scott?”

She snorts. “How do you think I got your address? He and I are BFFs now. I think our packs are gonna run together next full moon.”

“Oh my god,” Stiles says, burying his hands in his hair. Derek just looks shell-shocked.

“I’ll call you guys an Uber!” she says cheerfully, and Derek sighs.

“Thank you for your concern, Laura,” he says dryly. “But next time, please knock.”

“There won’t be a next time because you’re gonna remember the rules.”

Derek grits his teeth as he puts his clothes back on and rummages around Stiles’ nightstand for his keys and his wallet. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re overbearing?”

“Yeah, you do, all the time,” she says absently, still on her phone, and he sighs. “But you love me.”

“But I love you,” he repeats grudgingly, wrapping his arm around Stiles and tugging him toward the door. “Good _bye_.”

“Answer your goddamn phone. And look for Paul in a Prius!” she yells behind them, and Stiles muffles a chuckle into Derek’s shoulder. He growls at her, not quite human, and she waggles her fingers cheerfully in response.

They find Paul and his Prius, and Derek gives him an address in a nicer neighborhood across town.

“I am _so_ sorry,” Derek starts, but Stiles squeezes his hand and shakes his head.

“Dude, no. It’s not your fault.”

He grimaces. “It pretty much is. We have rules about responding to each other’s texts, it’s a safety thing.”

Stiles grins and leans into him, lowering his voice. “So you’re saying that you were just _so_ distracted?”

“Yeah, exactly,” Derek murmurs, his lips brushing Stiles’ ear, making him shiver.

“I understand,” he whispers back. “Scott’s a protective alpha, too. And Laura seems really great.”

Derek snorts. “Sure, when she’s not your big sister.”

The drive isn’t long, though it feels eternal with Derek’s fingers trailing up his thigh, and soon enough Stiles is very admirably watching Derek’s ass while they climb to the second floor of an apartment building.

“This is a nice place,” he says, looking around appreciatively. It’s open and airy, with exposed beams and cozy furniture.

“Thanks,” Derek says, plugging his phone into the charger on the kitchen counter.

“Part of me wants to have sex in Laura’s bed,” Stiles says, and Derek laughs.

“I appreciate the thought, but I can’t imagine her doing anything bad enough to deserve that. You can eat her ice cream, though.”

“Ooh, deal,” he says, his eyes lighting up. He starts for the kitchen, but Derek wraps a burly arm around his chest and drags him back, toward a door off the living room.

“I believe we got interrupted,” Derek says lowly, into his ear, and Stiles hitches a breath, nodding.

“I, uh—yeah.”

Derek opens the door, and Stiles barely gets a chance to look around—dark, sleek wood furniture—before Derek shoves him onto the bed. Laughing, Stiles tries to squirm further up toward the headboard and wrestle his shirt over his head at the same time. Derek fumbles with his jeans, yanking them down to Stiles’ ankles in one fell swoop before he ducks down and practically swallows his dick.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Stiles bites out, clenching his fists in the comforter. “God, Der, take…take off your clothes, Jesus.”

Derek groans, as if moving away from his current position is a fate worse than death—talk about an ego trip right there—but he obeys and sits back on his heels to strip off his shirt. Stiles heaves in a breath and lets himself look, his eyes skating lazily over Derek’s broad chest and the cut of his abs. His view disappears, but he supposes it’s worth it when he feels the hot slide of Derek’s tongue against the head of his dick.

“You forgot your pants,” he says, kicking half-heartedly at Derek’s thigh. Derek huffs and moves one of his hands from Stiles’ hip to his pants, unbuckling and shoving them down. His hand stays down there, the muscles in his shoulder bunching as he presumably jerks himself off, and Stiles clenches his eyes shut. Jesus.

“This isn’t gonna last long,” he manages to say, and while he isn’t exactly thinking coherently right now, he swears Derek smirks around his dick. Stiles really wishes that this could be a better showcase of his stamina, but the whole fast and frantic thing really works for him sometimes.

Derek must take his squirming and gasping for the warning that it is because he pulls back and replaces his mouth with his hand. He leans up to kiss Stiles, and his hot, eager mouth is the last straw. Stiles grunts into the kiss and comes all over his own stomach before flopping back with a groan.

He only gets half a second to recover before the air gets punched out of him by Derek climbing over him. Derek is barely taller than him, but he’s _bigger_ , and all that heavy muscle on top of him makes Stiles gasp and wish fervently for an inhumane refractory period. It doesn’t work, unfortunately—his dick is probably out of commission now for like 12 hours, _minimum_ —but it still feels really fucking good when Derek grinds against the groove of his groin, his hip brushing up against Stiles’ over-sensitized, twitching dick.

Stiles hooks one arm around Derek’s shoulder and slides a hand into his hair, tugging just a little—and then again, harder, when Derek gasps and jerks against his hand. Derek buries his nose in Stiles’ neck, and the dampness of his hot breath makes him shiver.

“C’mon, Der,” he murmurs, nibbling on the shell of his ear. “Fucking come, come on me.”

Derek lets out a plaintive little groan that’s frankly quite adorable, and after a few more thrusts of his hips, he stills and slumps down. Stiles laughs and presses a kiss to his temple, nudging him off and to the side before they’re stuck together permanently.

Derek gets a little preverbal after sex, which Stiles really loves that he knows, so he just falls into those big arms and kisses him lazily for a little while, until their breathing returns to normal. Derek finally grunts and reaches for Stiles’ shirt to wipe them clean. “You know, you could use one of _your_ shirts every once in a while,” Stiles says, but Derek just smirks at him as he climbs out of bed, way more graceful than he has any right to be.

Stiles heaves in a breath and runs a hand through his hair, unbearably pleased with the past 24 hours. He squirms with a little yelp when something cold and damp lands on his bare stomach, but he grins when he looks down and sees that it’s a pint of Ben & Jerry’s. “Oh my god, Peanut Butter Cup. Thanks, Laura.”

Derek snorts and crawls into bed next to him, brandishing two spoons. “She texted, your door is fixed. But she couldn’t stand the _sex stench_ , so she took your keys and is staying at a friend’s.”

“Couldn’t care less,” Stiles declares, through a mouthful of delicious peanut buttery goodness. “Orgasm, ice cream, hot guy. I am content.”

“Easy to please,” Derek says, full of false solemnity as he nods. “Good to know.”

Stiles smirks around his spoon and presses their shoulders together.


End file.
